This book was SO weird, but so earnest. It feels like it's dug a little bit out of my chest and has made a home there. It was a bit of a fever dream but it was also unashamedly raw and open. I don't quite know how to feel. 

The characters weren't necessarily lovable, and it didn't have much plot, it was a character study of women, I'm sure so many people saw themselves in the unnamed MC. 

It spoke on menopause, desire, sex, parenting, art and love and how that all looks and how it all gets mixed up together in life and what that means when you're aging and how the definition of all of these things changes as you age. 
I feel like I need to sit with this one for a while. I will 100% pick up more from Miranda July after this. It kinda felt like reading a Patti Smith where it's just stream of consciousness and can take you any which way without even trying to. 

The sex scenes were strange and a little gross and I did find myself icked out at times, but the writing was so delicate and poetic I was happy to kinda not think too deeply about those scenes haha.